


One-Upmanship

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19142974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Garrison and his men are used to games, and they are damned good at them.  Well, between the ones they play themselves and the ones they are part of as members of Garrison's Gorillas, they should be.  But this time they are dropped into an arena where the games played are new ones for the team.  How do you win a game when you don't know the rules and one or more of the players is trying to rig the game against you?  You do a little rigging of your own, and pray your ace in the hole beats theirs.  And if you can manage more than one such ace?  All so much the better, for this was one game they couldn't afford to lose.





	One-Upmanship

 

  
Garrison took the news with his usual calmness, though the team had a few words to say. And that was probably understandable. After all, he and his team were being sent to, as Casino put it, "some place ya cant pronounce and cant find on the map, to meet some people ya never heard of before, to figure out some racket no one can make heads or tails of. Yep, sounds right up yer alley, Warden!"

Surprisingly perhaps, Kevin Richards waited almost patiently while the hubbub died down, watching as Garrison, after letting them blow off a little steam, easily pulled them into line with just a few words.

He never quite understood how Garrison could tolerate the lack of discipline, nor quite how Garrison seemed to exert a kind of easy control when he chose to do so. It seemed to be a balancing act, one Richards would not have had the temperment nor the patience for. Although, while he wouldn't admit it to many people, had only begun to admit to himself, he found it a fascinating thing to watch, even rather entertaining sometimes.

But there was a time for that, and a time to get down to business, and when he felt there had been enough of the former, he settled down to the latter, clearing his throat and getting to the guts of the matter.

Well, as Major Richards explained, while Casino's description had merit, there was a _little_  more to it. The Allies were in delicate negotiations with the Sheik who controlled, or at least claimed, an area the Allies needed safe passage through. While things had gone along quite smoothly for the first couple of weeks, suddenly there was trouble, dissent. It was being made to look as if each side was targeting the other, perhaps jousting to make a more advantageous arrangement, but there were those who suspected there might be other forces at work.

"It is being made to appear as something quite different, of course, but we believe there is a chance Germany and Italy together are trying to disrupt things. Oh, not on the national level, of course; this simply isn't _that_ important a matter on that scope, and they have enough on their plates elsewhere. But we do know they both still have agents on the ground. What we need are fresh eyes, and we feel yours might just fit the bill. After all, if anyone can spot someone up to no good, surely it would be you and your men, with all your experience, that is."

Garrison could read that rather jaundiced look quite well; it was _not_  a wholehearted look of approval, certainly, as that backhanded compliment confirmed. He and Actor exchanged a wry look of amusement. The expressions on the others in the room ranged from a resigned waiting from Chief, a 'here we go again' roll of the eyes from Goniff and Casino, and from Meghada?

A deep sigh from the redhead in the corner, "and here I thought I was finished with sand and snakes for awhile. Oh, well, best laid plans and so on. When do we leave?"

Richards hadn't been enthusiastic about Meghada 'tagging along', as she put it. It had taken some heavy convincing, but in the end she got her way. Well, she had been determined to, even if it meant stowing away on the plane. She knew that part of the country fairly well, had contacts there; her people had somewhat of an involved history with the people there. Whether that would prove an advantage or disadvantage would depend on which of the tribes were involved; the Clan did have a way of making as many enemies as they did friends. Still, her knowledge would be of use, whichever way it went.

And, as she explained to Garrison later, in private, "Craig, you've been to North Africa, as a soldier, an outsider there on a specific mission. I've been there, my family has been there in a very different capacity; we have had the opportunity of seeing things from a different perspective. This is a place where the customs are sufficiently different that the guys could end up losing their heads. Literally! Even if they stick to what they would consider the straight and narrow path, the chances of them stumbling over some line or another is just too great, and retribution can be, usually is, harsh and swift. I can perhaps help with some guidance, yank them back if I see them veering into danger, and if trouble does come, I might have a chance of seeing they get out with a whole skin."

"And you and Actor - this is not a world where your usual cons will work. There is both more and less subtlety at work, and the games are different, the nuances of vital importance. A hair's difference in the depth of a nod or a bow, the flicker of a smile at the wrong moment, even the positioning of your body, all send signals you might not be intending to send, but that can have repercussions. You will not be able to ad lib your way through this! The East is still very much different than the West, if not in all, then in some very significant ways."

She acknowledged the drawback of her being a woman in an area doubly dominated by men, the tribesmen and the military, but assured him, "yes, and I'll take care not to flaunt that unless it's necessary. I've walked that path before, on both accounts. And being a Clanswoman, one of the Shantai, is a little different anyway," though she declined to explain further what she meant by that cryptic statement.

Her research done, contacts made, messages given and received, she girded her loins for another encounter with, as she put it, "camels, fleas, sand, and all those damned snakes. Well, at least this time I shouldn't have to worry about crocodiles! And it could be worse; it could be Norway or somewhere north instead, and I dislike the cold worse than the heat."

Actually, though she couldn't have known it at the time, while there would be heat, a few camels and lots of sand, the only snakes she'd encounter on _this_ trip would be those of the two-legged variety. Pity the restrictions there, of course. Often _both_ types needed to be dealt with strongly, but for some unknown reason, there was usually more of an outburst when you dealt with the two-legged ones in the manner they'd earned. She'd never quite understood that distinction.

Her bag was packed, her kit all in place, the special package loaned to her by the Clan Historian being delivered by an amused Ian, another thorough reading by the Keeper of the Archives of those faded journals to her over the radio, and she was ready to return to a part of the world one of her ancestors had written about so movingly, with such eloquence, such passion, and such profanity.

{"Well, Great-Great-Aunt Ausera never could abide heat. Said the only thing she could really smile about for the whole time she'd spent there was winning Great-Great-Aunt Farusha's hand, along with that jeweled sword. Well, and that recipe for baklava. No one could regret that recipe for baklava!"}

  
Upon their arrival they were met by Lieutenant Jackman, one of the three officers connected to the negotiations, shown to their quarters. There had been an initial attempt to put Richards and Garrison in officers' billet, the men in the enlisted quarters, though Jackman had announced he was quite perplexed about where to put Meghada. That notion had been quickly overruled by Kevin Richards.

"Yes, that will be fine for me, but I believe I made it clear that the team was to have quarters together, the Lieutenant included, and separate from the others on base."

And Garrison concurred. "We'll be out and about, of course, but the team stays together."

"Yes, well, we _intended_ to have your _men_ in the same set of quarters, of course, along with Mayfield's and Chambers' men. We can arrange a separate space, I suppose, though I really do not understand the necessity. But for officers and enlisted to room together, that's just not done!" he protested. "And as for the lady . . . !" His tone was much as if Garrison had decided, for some unknown reason, to bring a trained seal along for the ride.

His frustration and confusion wasn't helped by Goniff's cheerful, "that's okay, mate, don't dampen your drawers. We aint enlisted, not exactly."

The Lieutenant's confusion only increased when Meghada drawled, "and the last person who called me a 'lady' in that tone of voice ended up with a black eye, so beware. I remain with the team."

"That's enough, pipe down, all of you" Garrison ordered absently. "Lieutenant, we require quarters, sufficient for the whole lot of us, separate from anyone else. Cots and bedrolls will work if nothing else is available."

It was done, reluctantly, though that guest bungalow had been just sitting there empty and ready, and they settled in and got to work.

It had been easier than you'd think, primarily due to their lack of preconceptions about what might be going on. Oh, Richards had mentioned possible foreign agents, but there was just something too simplistic about the disruptive activities for a professional, or group of professionals, to be involved. As Chief had pointed out, "it's more like they're counting coup on each other; no real damage, just lots of 'see how close I got; see what I _could_ have done if I'd a wanted to'. Like it's a game or something."

A little snooping, a few questions _not_ in the general run of what had been asked previously, and the culprits had been nabbed in the act. Both had even confessed, more than a little pleased with themselves to have a specialized team sent to track them down.

"Just think, Ali, what we can accomplish when we're just a little older," young Alan Meyers had chortled to the grinning Ali, his best friend and accomplice in this little set of 'war games'. "Anyone will think twice before coming into OUR territory!"

Garrison had rolled his eyes, grateful that those two twelve-year-olds were someone else's worry; he had more than enough of his own. He had four of his own that sometimes acted that age and he wasn't interested in taking on two more.

Jackman and the other two officers in charge had been incredulous when told of the results of the investigation, but the evidence, plus those two very cheerful confessions, had proven too much to dispute.

Now, when they thought they could pack up and go home, here was Jackman explaining that it wasn't quite over; that their presence was still required.

"Now that _that_  is settled, we can get down to the business of finalizing the agreement. There will be a meeting tomorrow with all the principals. This meeting, you're to come, of course, Garrison; the Sheik wants to hear the results of your investigation personally, will want to ask you questions, I'm sure."

"It will be the Sheik and his immediate retinue, Major Callison, Lieutenant Franks, and myself, accompanied by one attendant each. That is protocol, it would appear, from what we know of their customs. And you have been allowed, indeed must have, one attendant, as well; bring him," nodding at Goniff, busy peeling an oddly shaped fruit at the table.

Goniff felt the eyes on him and looked up, startled at being singled out. He took a fast look at the others, wanting to see if they were as taken aback as he was. Normally Actor would have been Garrison's backup at the meeting; if nothing else, the man spoke and understood the local dialect to some degree, and was aware of at least some of the customs, not to mention had the imposing physical presence to carry off a meeting with the dignitaries involved. He looked his puzzlement at Garrison.

"Any particular reason for selecting Goniff? He doesn't speak the language, and Actor does," Garrison asked.

He was always a little wary when someone started making decisions for him, particularly when it involved his men. And Jackman had been awfully quick with picking out who should go with Garrison to the meeting. No, Garrison felt the skin on his spine twitch, like a spider was crawling up under his shirt; he'd had that feeling before, it never boded well.

Jackman gave a weary if slightly impatient nod, "there is _always_  a particular reason, Lieutenant, in delicate negotiations such as these. Although the reasons do vary considerably depending on who is seated at the table. Diplomacy is a tricky business, you know. The thing is, this crew seems to be more favorably inclined toward us Americans, far less toward the British; some old history there, I assume."

Meghada and Actor refrained from rolling their eyes; that seemed an remarkably offhand comment considering this region had seen enough conflicts to provide several centuries worth of 'old history' prodding antagonism.

"Major Callison was the first to recognize and take advantage of this. While Major Callison is American, as are Franks and myself, Callison's temporary aide is British, you see, competent but rather quiet and subservient in demeanor. Callison's rather abrasive temperment makes that understandable, though you never heard me say any such thing, of course."

"The sight of a Brit in 'servitude' to an American, (for that's what the Sheik considers our Aides and Adjutants - servants), subject to the demands and verbal domination Callison hands out seems to amuse the Sheik. When he is amused, the Sheik is much more inclined to be reasonable in his demands, more lenient in overlooking any mistakes we might make out of ignorance. Callison agrees, as do we all, that keeping the Sheik amused would be most beneficial."

"Therefore, Franks and I have selected our attendants likewise, someone other than we might have ordinarily, not our usual certainly, each man English, not American. Everyone is well aware of the makeup of your team, you see, Garrison. Your other two men are Americans, like yourself," inclining his head toward Chief and Casino, listening from the table.

"And though you've told me Actor can do many impersonations, and I'm sure he could probably play the part of an Englishman extremely well, they are already aware he is Italian. I doubt they would appreciate us trying to deceive them like that. And, you may have noticed, I did not include Major Richards in the lineup at all. He is far too much the sort they hold in deep dislike; it would only complicate things if he were to be present." He made no mention of the redhead at all.

Garrison wondered how Richards felt about that little development; well, no, he didn't really - he could imagine it all too well. Garrison wasn't too happy about it either.

He could trust Richards to a great extent. He didn't know enough about Jackman to know if he could be trusted, he wasn't overly fond of Callison and his bullying tactics, and he had a rough history with Franks from his previous service in North Africa that ensured there would certainly be no trust, no meeting of the minds there. He felt he was on the verge of stepping into a trap, sensing it was there, but not knowing what the trap consisted of, precisely, or how it would be triggered.

Jackman paused, then frowned in some impatience, "oh, and the Sheik relayed one additional demand in a list of various others. He says he has heard you have with you a 'shanty', whatever he means by that. I hope _you_ know, for he is insisting that you bring this 'shanty' with you to the meeting, that he wishes to see it.   _Do_  you know what he is talking about, Lieutenant?"

A low chuckle came from the one person in the room Jackman had ignored from the beginning, other than for that initial uncomfortable greeting. "He is talking about _me,_ Lieutenant Jackman."

Jackman gasped, "but that's impossible! It would be the height of impropriety to bring a female into this matter; it would be a grave offense to the Sheik! That Major Richards saw fit to allow you to come along in the first place is incomprehensible. No, absolutely not!"

Meghada shrugged, seemingly indifferent, reaching out a hand to take the slice of fruit Goniff was handing her. Taking a small bite, licking her lips in appreciation, she looked over at Jackman.

"Suit yourself, of course. I'm sure ignoring a minor request from the Sheik will not create any problems. Oh, but you did say it was a **demand** , didn't you? That he is _insisting_ the Lieutenant bring the Shantai with him."

Her eyes lazily watched his mind process that conundrum, slowly grind over his limited options. "And you are sure _you_ are what he meant? Lieutenant, I still don't see . . ."

"Yes, she's the one he meant. If the Sheik wants her there, Jackman, I expect he has his reasons. Very well, lay it out, everything I need to know."

Garrison and the others listened, and it wasn't only the team leader who had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being given a highly-edited version of the facts.

 

Franks frowned when Jackman reported back. "I didn't tell you to involve the woman, that will only complicate matters. I just said to be sure it was the Englishman who played the part of the servant." He'd needed a hook, as it were, to play out this little bit of revenge on the interferring, absurdly protective, high and mighty Craig Garrison, and this seemed tailor-made for the purpose. The Englishman would stand out like a sore thumb alongside the other men he'd selected as attendants, and he'd already dropped enough little hints along the way to ensure things would play out the way he wanted. Yes, Garrison would soon find himself squarely between a rock and a hard place, with no way out, and Franks was going to enjoy every moment of the experience.

"Yes, I know, but that 'shanty' the Sheik mentioned, it turns out it's her, though she pronounced it a little differently, more 'shant eye' or something like that. And there's no help for it; the Sheik was most adamant, you know. I got the feeling he'll just walk away if we say 'no'."

Franks thought and then nodded briskly. "Well, hopefully she will keep to her place and not create any more difficulties. It is already going to be a tense afternoon."

{"But this should turn out quite well, even with her being there. In fact, if I'd know she was going to be involved, I perhaps could have suggested the Sheik ask for her. But, no, Callison would never have stood for that, would have backed Garrison up, most certainly. I need Callison annoyed with Garrison and his protective streak and his quick temper, not taking his side; yes, this should work just as I planned."}

Just how tense things were likely to get, perhaps only Franks knew, at least right at that moment. Though Garrison and his team, Kevin Richards as well, would be finding out very shortly.

Meanwhile, after Casino had fetched the fuming Kevin Richards for a war conference, Garrison made his decision.

"Meghada, I think it's time you talk to your contacts again. There's something going on, and I want to know what it is."

And he shared that rather ugly piece of history involving Garrison, Franks, and a young girl.

"So he has no reason to love me. While our superiors didn't take his conduct as seriously as I had, didn't offer much in the way of discipline other than moving him back a few points in the roster, he didn't appreciate my making a fuss over it, nor the broken nose I left him with. I don't like his involvement in this, not with the team here."

She indeed did have contacts, and the word came from one she considered reliable. In fact, he was reliable enough she trusted him to carry a bit of information back with him, a request, to friends who would help if it came to that. It might not affect things, but then again, it might give them an edge, maybe even a winning hand.

Now, with the facts in hand, along with a much-needed cup of coffee, she explained.

"In negotiations, it's not uncommon for the side that thinks it has the upper hand to demand something special, something to grind a bit of dust into the other side's eyes. It's basic one-upmanship, and it can range from the most petty to some spectacularly nasty episodes."

"The thing is, the side giving in can't demand limits, has no control over which way things will go, how far they will go, and intentions are rarely made clear up front."

"Still, the side making the demands usually is quite careful not to make their demands too unreasonable. After all, it is a game of superiority, a way of showing you have more of the right cards, a way to encourage the other side to be more willing to make concessions to a superior opponent, not an attempt to cause a breakdown in the negotiations."

"Unless the ultimate aim _is_  to force a showdown, in which case something might be demanded that would be a deal-breaker, just to light the fuse. Of course, what might be reasonable to one could easily _be_ a deal-breaker to another. All of that is what makes this particular game so dangerous."

She explained what was intended, waited for the imprecations to die down.

"A 'guesting', - the local word translates to something like that, anyway, which can mislead the unwary into thinking it something quite harmless, something other than what it is. Basically, a hostage, one unprotected by any rules, given freely into their hands for a twenty-four-hour period while the final agreements are set in place."

"At its mildest, it might involve just the humiliation of being led away in bonds and left alone in the darkness for the time allotted. It might involve being forced to serve the captors as a servant would, bringing food and drink or doing menial chores, but nothing really untoward. It might go much farther, involve physical or mental challenges, physical abuse of differing natures, even torture. In general, death is not in the offing, though accidents have occurred, and wars have sometimes started over such, depending on the temperament of those involved."

"So, you think Goniff is the one they'll select? That's why Jackman insisted on him being the one going in with me? Why?" The frown on Garrison's face was intimidating.

"Assuredly it will be him, if my information is correct. They cannot reach too high in their demands. You are an officer and above their reach, as are the other officers. But a servant would be well within the accepted limits."

"It is said the Sheik has a weakness for blue eyes and blond hair; it's a novelty here, and at least two of his wives bear such; they are Circassian, I believe, every bit as lovely as the women from that area are reputed to be."

She quickly glared at their safecracker and issued a stern warning. "And if you even _TRY_ to get a glimpse of them, Casino, you won't have to worry about the Sheik's deciding to castrate you.  I _PERSONALLY_ will shoot you first! He will still castrate you, of course, to make a point, but at least you won't feel it!"

"The other 'servants' there, what do you want to bet they'll all be of a very different physical type, Goniff being the only blond. From what Akmet told me, Goniff's smaller stature adds to the overall appeal with the Sheik and his men, expands the possibilities into unknown realms. I'm afraid we can blame Lawrence for that; 'Akiem Dynamite' - his deeds, his accomplishments, his endurance so outdistanced his height, they find it a matter of curiosity as to whether that would weigh true here as well. Or, at least that's what's being used as an excuse. I have the feeling they've been led in that direction by a very clever bit of word play from Franks, possibly Jackman as well."

Her personal opinion was that the tongues that had exercised that particular word play would be all the better for a little judicious trimming, though she refrained from expressing that out loud. Both Richards and Garrison would probably only chide her for her lack of subtlety again. She personally thought subtlety was overrated, but that was just her. {"And better to ask forgiveness, etc, etc, etc."}

Goniff let out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes skyward. "Aint enough I 'ave to deal with all the plans the Lieutenant comes up with. Not enough with all the ruddy Redmonds we keep running into and all the ruddy nonsense they keep getting me into!  No, now there's a ruddy Sheik w'at wants to see if I'm another Lawrence! Ruddy 'ELL, Warden! Let's just go 'ome, can't we??"

Garrison frowned absently, holding up a calming hand. "Hush, Goniff. Alright, Meghada. What next? What are our options?"

She was far too calm for there to be no way out, Garrison knew that. If she truly thought that, she'd have no qualms about making a dash for the plane and letting Jackman and the others deal with the fallout.

"That's where knowing the customs of this particular tribe comes in handy." And hadn't she been relieved to find THAT out! It could easily have been otherwise; her people hadn't traveled with EVERY tribe in the region, after all.

"The thing is, once they've made their 'request', they can elect to withdraw it but they cannot, with honor, CHANGE the request. So, let them make their demands. WE concentrate on successfully eliminating Goniff as being the recipient of their 'guesting' invitation. This CAN be countered, if handled right; there are precedents, guidelines. AND it should be possible to manage it without offending the Sheik."

"However, you had better be prepared to deal with the fall-out on our side, Kevin; this will be far too intriguing a story for it not to spread, all orders to the contrary notwithstanding. Although, perhaps we can embellish the story enough to make it so fantastical that any listeners might be so enchanted with the whole as not to focus on any of the particulars. You see, we have an ace up our sleeve, one our industrious Lieutenants Franks and Jackman have no knowledge of. Perhaps MORE than one ace, even."

The smile on her face was not pretty, more menacing than anything else, but somehow the men found it quite reassuring. {"Kinda like having a snarling, snapping mastiff on a leash; as long as the teeth are facing in the other direction, it's all good!"} Casino admitted to himself.

Richards stared at Garrison and shook his head. "You do make the most interesting enemies, Lieutenant. Very well, Meghada, I'll run interference. Just what am I running interference FOR?"

The sputtering started not three minutes in, and continued on for some time. They waited til he'd regained his composure, then started putting the plan together.

  
The meeting itself went well, the information about the two youngsters playing an elaborate game of spy and saboteur, creating general confusion and mayhem was expounded on, wondered at, but with a surprising amount of equinimity. Since one boy was the son of the Base Commander, the other the favorite son of the Sheik's brother, the two boys being fast friends as well as fellow conspirators, damage control was fairly simple.

The Sheik asked various questions as to the methods used to obtain the information the others had been unable to locate, had seemed amused at many of the details, at the ingenuity of the two youngsters in running rings around everyone. But he'd seemed distracted, casting repeated glances over at Garrison, with Goniff standing close to the rear, as were all the other 'attendants', and turned away to speak to his men more than once, getting soft replies in return.

Garrison waited, watched as the Sheik and the man who sat beside him looked at each of the four 'servants', talked rapidly between themselves. Garrison took notice that the other 'servants' for the Allied officers were all large, dark, even on the swarthy side, if displaying a proper, if slightly grudging subservient demeanor. Goniff, fair, blond, much smaller in build, stood out by a mile as being the exception, the 'novelty'. He didn't imagine that was by accident. {"It seems Franks didn't want to leave anything to chance."}

Then the Sheik turned his attention back to the meeting, smiled affably, offered assurances that he felt a reasonable agreement could be reached, "perhaps by tomorrow evening. If we decide you are sincere in your wish to come to terms. But, you will understand, we must be convinced of that before we can bind ourselves to any agreement. There is a custom we follow in such instances."

Then came the demand coached as a polite request, just as Meghada had been told would happen.

Garrison thought it was very lucky he'd been warned up front, his temper would have been difficult to contain otherwise, and he really wouldn't have had any idea how to turn it all around without it turning into a disaster for all involved. {"Franks would have gotten just what he wanted, me boiling up and making a shambles of my career, because I sure as hell wouldn't have agreed to turning Goniff, any of my men, over to them, not for twenty-four hours; hell, not for even ten minutes! And what if Callison had overridden me? It's not like we can shoot our way out of here!"}

Now, he merely cocked his head, listening to that smiling request, and then shook his head. "No," he said calmly, politely, without anger, trying to project total self-assurance.

He caught the quick look between Franks and Jackman, the frown on Callison's face. Callison obviously didn't care for the notion of turning Garrison's 'servant' over to the Sheik and his retinue for twenty-four hours, "to give him the opportunity to prove himself as worthy as another English who once came among us," but he didn't like that quick but firm denial either. A great deal was riding on these negotiations, and sometimes compromises, sacrifices, had to be made. At least one should be open to discussion.

Jackman approached Garrison, speaking low. Firm assurances came from Jackman, assurances of Goniff's safety, assurances that the Sheik could be trusted to keep his word (though since the Sheik had made no assurances of his own, that was something Garrison raised his brows at).

"Really, only a formality, I'm sure, Lieutenant. You must be reasonable. Think of what is at stake!" Jackman urged anxiously. Garrison basically ignored him, though the steely look on his smiling face should have given the Lieutenant pause.

Still smiling calmly, Garrison faced the Sheik and bowed at just the right depth for politeness, but not subservience, his body language just what Meghada had coached him on.

"No, that is not possible," he repeated.

And that was when the Sheik's interpreter and seemingly right-hand-man frowned and the request became a demand, accompanied by slightly taunting words, challenging Garrison for putting such importance on a 'servant'.

(That the interpreter was cousin to Marik, the metalsmith the Clan patronized in London, that was their ace in the hole Meghada had mentioned, the opportunity to tilt the table in their direction. Now, delivering those words, just as he'd been asked to by this friend of his cousin, he waited with interest to see what came next. He was not failing in his duty to the Sheik, just adding to the general interesting show, in his opinion. Frankly, he was finding it all most amusing, this game the foreigners were playing among themselves, though drawing the Sheik into their games could prove dangerous.)

That was the cue Meghada had told Garrison to wait for, and it came, just as she'd said it would. Well, she had said she was familiar with the tribal customs.

Garrison smiled, and gave a slightly conspiratorial chuckle, very man-to-man, equal-to-equal. "Perhaps, if he were truly a servant, I might make such a sacrifice, but he is not. He is of my personal household, and sits at my side and eats from my plate and drinks from my cup."

A quick movement of his hand, a beckoning motion of his head brought a carefully watching Goniff to move to Garrison's side, only half a step away, there to drop gracefully to a cross-legged seated position on the floor. Garrison, seemingly without thought, almost absently, reached out to lay his hand lightly on Goniff's nearest shoulder, feeling the slight shiver under his palm.

There was a buzz of conversation at that, then "we were told he was your servant; these men said so." The frowns, the looks - suspicion warred with annoyance, tinged with doubt.

"Yes, well, THESE MEN would not have known. I was brought here, me and my people, to do a job they were unable to accomplish, not because they are my friends. These men are little more than strangers to me and we have little common ground. I would hardly be likely to prattle personal details of my household to them, any more than you would share intimate stories of your tents and those who are sheltered within with a stranger. No, this one is no servant."

He gave a rueful laugh, "you see, I am a greedy, even selfish man. He travels as my servant, often, carries out the role very well. That allows me the self-indulgence of keeping him at my side, even at times when perhaps it would be safer for him to remain at home. For we all have enemies, do we not, those who might think to strike at those close to our hearts in an attempt to wound us." Garrison allowed himself the luxury of looking toward Franks, meeting those blue eyes with a knowing smile. "Such enemies are more likely to dismiss the notion of that someone being a 'mere servant'. Though it appears I took too much comfort in that thought; it would appear some enemies draw no such lines. I shall have to remember that in the future, and take better precautions."

The smile on Garrison's face invited the Sheik and the others to find that both amusing and reasonable. The implications were all there, carefully couched in terms these men would understand and accept, nothing that would demand an adverse reaction for honor's sake. As Meghada had said, it was a very delicate balance, and Garrison could feel the sweat prickle on his skin as he walked that tightrope.

Goniff was feeling more than a little uncomfortable, sitting there, Garrison's hand on his shoulder, not saying a word, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

{"Feel like a prize poodle on a ruddy leash! Lawrence my ruddy arse! Doubt anyone's like Lawrence, maybe even Lawrence wasn't w'en it comes right down to it! Well, cept maybe the Lieutenant. W'at did 'Gaida call Lawrence? Lord Blow Em Up? No, Lord Dynamite. Now THAT's the Lieutenant right enough! Maybe we ought to start calling 'im that w'en we get back!"}.

The tremor that pulsed through his body was amusement at that thought, but Garrison wouldn't have known that, and the Lieutenant tightened his hand just a fraction, offering encouragement. It was all the officer felt he could safely do at that moment.

Meghada had cautioned against any ad libbing. "I know it's your specialty, Craig, but NOT here, NOT now. One wrong word, a too-strong inflection, can turn genial understanding of something they can overlook, to intolerance and anger most quickly."

He'd practiced this over and over in the short time they'd had, til she'd proclaimed she was well satisfied with the result.

While the Sheik and his men seemed more amused than anything else, the same couldn't be said for Callison and the others. Callison was scandalized, that much was obvious, while Franks wore a look of confusion mixed with some concern that this might not turn out the way he'd intended. Jackman just looked confused.

Garrison decided to move things along quickly before anyone, particularly Franks, could think too much, maybe say just the wrong thing, turn this in an unfortunate direction.

Nodding politely once again to the Sheik, he offered, "but you asked that I bring the Shantai to greet you. She has agreed to do so," giving a graceful beckoning of his free hand, at which the leather veiled woman approached from the shadows where she had waited.

"I would say I ordered her to come, but," and Garrison gave a rueful laugh, again inviting the Sheik and the others to join in, "liking my manhood as it is, without modification, I elect not to ORDER her to do anything. A polite request generally works best, don't you agree, when dealing with her kind?"

Callison was now joining Franks and Jackman in looking confused, especially when the Sheik laid back his head and roared with laughter.

"Yes, I have heard that that is so." The Sheik made a slight beckoning motion, and Meghada slid forward, graceful, her eyes slightly downcast above the odd veil and head drape of supple and finely-worked tanned leather.

"Is it permitted that I might see her face? Those of the Shantai have not been unknown to us; my own father and grandfather and his before him told tales of them, their fierceness and prowess in battle, and much else."

There was some skepticism in the men facing them now. Claiming to be a legend could be a risky business; these warriors of the desert would not take kindly to a false claim.

{"Yes, well, I wouldn't be all that naively trusting if I were them either,"} Garrison admitted to himself. He was glad that they weren't trying to pull a con at the moment, that Meghada was the real thing, or at least a familial descendant of the real thing.

"Meghada, would you gift the Sheik with a closer look at your face, your person?" he asked. There was a careful balance to be maintained here, strong but polite, encouraging but not demanding.

The unveiling was slow and calm, with nothing of nervousness about it. The eyes fastened on her were knowing ones, and the quick nods, the rapid murmur of voices told everyone watching that this was indeed one alike to what the stories had told them. The long draped leather veil had shielded more than just Meghada's face and the coils of braided red hair; it had been long enough to shield the sheathed blades on her forearms, and at her waist, and again at her thighs. Her sleeveless tight scooped leather blouse paired with scarred leather trousers, throwing stars attached by leather thongs at the waist. The black painted tears, three of them, leading down from the outside corner of her left eye, the single painted drops of blood red extending down from the sides of her mouth only added to the overall effect.

{"Sweet Mother bless you, Great-Great-Aunt Ausera, for your attention to detail in your journals, AND for having this veil stored away safely!"}

Now all that was out in the open for all to see. Garrison was amused to see not only annoyance and irritation on the officers' faces, but absolute shock. If they had been concerned about having a woman present, the sight of THIS woman, armed to the teeth and so bizarrely painted, hadn't been comforting in the least.

Not so with the Sheik, however. He nodded at the woman with the same respect, no, much more than he'd shown any of the men, including the officers.

"The skills of your people are still talked about among our tents, Shantai, Lady of The Veil. You would be welcome to come, travel with us, as others of your kind have done. You travel with this one and his 'not-a-servant' as a guard? Are you contract-bound, or are you free to leave them, to choose your own master for a time? Our tents would be honored by your presence. You would walk your own way among us, owing allegiance to no man, even myself."

The woman's low husky voice was an oddly cheerful one, considering.

"Oh, I am always free to choose my own master. And yes, I serve as a guard, and perhaps as more, should the need arise," caressing the sheathed knife on her left arm. The word 'assassin' went unspoken, but truly it had not needed to be said aloud for the tribesmen to understand the implication. Those black teardrops had proclaimed that, just as the red drops depicting blood proclaimed she had made many kills, enough kills to justify wearing the marks. Yes, their legends had told of that as well.

"But while I am honored beyond words at your invitation, I travel with" and she paused, "'this one and his not-a-servant'," glancing with knowing warmth at Garrison and Goniff, using the Sheik's own words as amused description, and the laugh, warm and rich, came as a pleasant ruffling of the senses, "as a member of the household, not by contract. Though the question of WHOSE household that might be, that is sometimes a matter of opinion," she said, giving Garrison an arch look, one she'd copied from one of Goniff's, to which Garrison replied with a wry grin and accepting one-shouldered shrug. Goniff didn't even bother to restrain that wide knowing grin this time, though he was still careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

She continued. "As is the question of who is eating from whose plate, drinking from whose cup. All I can say is that we require a very LARGE plate and cup, we three and our household," those laughing eyes capturing their imagination, and they joined in her laughter.

Yes, many of the stories told had spoken of that, the 'large plate and cup' required, along with monsters destroyed, maidens rescued, treasures found, battles brought to victory by those known as the Shantai. The matter of this American officer and his 'not-a-servant' seemed much clearer, much more understandable now; they both obviously belonged to this Lady of The Veil, and the Shantai had always had their own ways, and those who were wise did not seek to interfere. There were stories there, as well, most grisly ones sufficient to make even a hardened desert warrior uneasy in the night.

The thought of repeating the demand for the 'guesting' was gone, as if it had never been there.

The negotiations were finalized, the papers signed, and the Sheik and his men left. Invitations to Meghada and those of HER household who might wish to join the tent dwellers for a meal and more had been loud and sincere.

Garrison found it telling, the Sheik's calm determination that any household that contained the Shantai would automatically be, at the heart, HER household. Somehow Garrison didn't doubt that in the least.

The 'invitation' by Major Callison and the others to 'join us in my office for a little discussion' was more tightly uttered, through lips even more tightly clenched.

That Major Richards was already ensconced in Callison's office, looking very well pleased about something or the other, served as a temporary distraction. But then Callison had made the mistake of glaring at Meghada and ordering her to "take those stupid knives off and wrap that veil thing around you, woman! And do something about your face! You look positively indecent!"

While Richards and Garrison never expected subtlety from the redhead, her cold, snarling "feck off!" as she threw herself into a chair next to Richards and stacked her leather-clad feet up on Callison's desk, while proceeding to clean under her fingernails with one of those sharp knives, did seem a little more outspoken than they were expecting; at least those choked coughs they both gave would seem to point in that direction. Goniff was fighting to keep from laughing, and succeeded with that, though it obviously was a hard-won battle.

It got loud, a few accusations were thrown around, and some of Franks' dirty laundry was hauled out on the line. If the officers in charge of the negotiations had their noses thoroughly out of joint, well, the overall aim of the negotiations had been met, as Richards took considerable pleasure in reminding them. Still, they weren't happy with Garrison, indeed with any of those who'd come to investigate a situation THEY hadn't been able to manage. The knowing that it had been only two young boys playing games in the first place? That didn't help much to soothe their ruffled egos.

By the end of the conversation, not having gotten any satisfaction from any of the participants, they were finally willing to settle for just getting these impossible people out of here, as soon as possible.

Especially when a maliciously-smiling Meghada offered to "put in a word with the Sheik for you all, particularly you, Lieutenant Franks. I think it would do you a world of good, a few weeks traveling with the tribes, finding your own place there. You even have that distinctive shade of blond hair and blue eyes, Lieutenant; that would really make you stand out from the crowd. I believe I could suggest a few possibilities with the Sheik for some appropriate lessons; most educational, I would imagine, making new friends, learning new ways, new customs."

No, she wouldn't, (well, probably not, anyway) but it was such a lovely thought to leave him with. Especially considering the source of his disagreement with Garrison and the stew he'd intended to land Goniff in, all with the hopes of setting off Garrison's fuse, causing him to disgrace himself, maybe be demoted or worse.

Franks had gone a dirty grey, Garrison noticed with deep satisfaction, and the other two not much better.

He got to his feet. "Come on, Goniff, Major. Let's take our Lady of The Veil and collect the others and get the hell out of here."

Goniff bounced to his feet. "Right you are, Lieutenant! Though I wouldn't mind stopping in with the Sheik for a bit; that interpreter of 'is said they were 'aving roasted lamb and tabbouleh and all kinds of other things. Wouldn't mind wrapping myself around some of that right now. Been an exciting day; it's given me an appetite right enough!"

Meghada laughed indulgently. "We feed you all that, we'll have to roll you to the plane, and then you'll be sick all the way home! Never you mind; I'll put together something you'll fancy, you and the others, once we get back. I imagine sister Caeide will be able to spare me a nice bit of lamb, even. And we've Family and Friends from this area, I know how to make the other dishes that go alongside. And there's a family recipe for baklava that you will simply love!"

"I don't suppose I could get an invitation to that dinner, could I, Meghada? It does sound interesting," Kevin Richards teased as they turned, exited the door and headed off to get the rest of the team.

He, along with the others, had effectively dismissed the other officers as being totally unimportant, both he and Garrison totally ignoring military protocol for once. They didn't bother saluting, saying goodbye, farewell, or kiss my arse to the others in that office. It was probably just as well. Who knows what Meghada might have given as her parting greeting; Garrison had halfway expecting her to sucker punch Franks on the way out. Hell, he'd been tempted to himself!

They were boarding the plane when he realized they were missing one redhead, and turned to yell at Casino, who was bringing up the rear.

"Where the hell did Meghada get to?"

Casino had grinned. "Said she had something she needed to do. Said to tell you she'll be here in just a couple a minutes, to tell the pilot to go ahead and get er warmed up."

They'd gotten on board, pilot just waiting for the go ahead when Meghada dashed up and threw herself inside at a tumbling roll. Gaily she yelled, "let's get this bird in the air, gentlemen!" and up and away they were. Goniff and Chief had each reached down a casual arm to grasp her reaching hands and pull her, laughing, onto the bench between them.

Garrison took a good look at that satisfied smirk, and asked, in an apprehensive voice, "and?"

She grinned, "and he's got a soft gut AND a glass jaw. And he whimpers like a little baby over a little bloody nose, well, maybe a broken nose. But there was definitely blood! Sweet!"

The guys roared, Garrison and Richards looked at each other and broke into a shared laugh. No, subtle just wasn't her thing.

Garrison helped the laughter continue when he shook his head ruefully. "And I was telling myself I was glad I didn't have responsibility for those two twelve-year olds, since I already had four that acted that age! I was wrong, I don't have four, I have FIVE!"

It didn't help the general hilarity when Meghada smirked and stuck her tongue out at him.

And yes, Richards figured he'd have some interference to run, but perhaps not as much as he'd feared. After all, those stories the Sheik had told toward the end there, about the monsters and great battles and everything else, that should distract more than a few of the curious. Any time you have a tale with a rampaging monster, a warrior wielding a flaming sword and a beautiful maiden chained to a mountain top, it just captured the imagination somehow. Yes, he imagined all those pesky little details would just filter to the sidelines unnoticed.

  
Afterwards, when the guys found Goniff squinting into a mirror, fingering his hair, frowning, obviously in deep thought, they'd quizzed him about becoming as vain as Actor.

"Ain't that, mates. Just, never fancied myself with dark 'air, you know? But I'm starting to wonder if that might not be something to think about. And, you think those little glass eye lenses might ever be something a bloke might get used to? Think maybe they come in brown?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
